


Personal Tutoring

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Authority Figures, Emotional Manipulation, Exhibitionism, Experiments in asexuality, Exploration, M/M, Not really actual sibling incest, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poor Mycroft, Sex Toys, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes to Mycroft for some information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Tutoring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Five Acts, Round Six for for the prompts authority figure, delayed gratification, and exhibitionism.

“I know you’re a homosexual.”

Mycroft looked up front his desk to see Sherlock leaning against the closed door of his office. The room wasn’t so large for him not to have noticed his wayward brother’s appearance-- no matter, he’d soon have a promotion and a larger office--but he’d become so used to Sherlock’s spontaneous comings and goings over the years that he must have tuned it out. He replayed Sherlock’s words in his mind, and frowned. “Yes?” he prompted.

“A bit risky, that, in your line of work.”

“You’re not interested in sex,” Mycroft said after a moment of consideration. He picked up the file he’d been reading, and began to scan the first paragraph. “You should be studying.”

“I am.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. Sherlock took the chair opposite him. They sat examining each other. “Have you made many friends up at Cambridge?” Mycroft asked.

“You know I haven’t.”

“I see. Your peers are sexual. They’re exploring sexual behaviour quite blatantly at this age. It mystifies you.”

“There should be nothing mysterious about it. It’s only biology.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Sherlock stared but at him, but Mycroft had cultivated patience far greater than Sherlock’s. He could wait as long as he needed to for his brother to reveal his reason for coming.

“I wish to understand,” Sherlock snapped.

“As ever, brother dear. How much would you like to understand?” A flash of discomfort marred Sherlock’s face, and Mycroft quickly pinpointed the cause: doubt as to Mycroft’s willingness to help-- the possibility of his requiring some sort of a fee or favour in return. As if Mycroft could truly deny his brother anything. He amended his phrasing. “To what extent.”

“I want to witness an orgasm and experience one at the same time. Or near to,” he clarified quickly. “Also, penetration. I want to understand its appeal.”

“No touching, I presume.”

“No touching.”

Mycroft watched Sherlock for a long moment. Then he plucked a pen and paper from his desk drawer. “A list,” he said as he wrote. “I trust the exercise of procuring these items will also aid in your study.” He held the paper out to Sherlock, who stood to take it. Mycroft held on.

“Understand, Sherlock. This will only happen once.”

Sherlock snatched the list and left without answering.  
\--

“It’s not that I’m unable to achieve orgasm,” Sherlock explained. Only he would be able to maintain a conversation of this nature while kneeling naked on Mycroft’s bed, working a lubed finger into his entrance. “Only I’ve never done it in company.”

“It can be much the same, in some cases,” Mycroft said from his perch in the armchair across the room. He’d judiciously positioned himself to have an excellent view of Sherlock while remaining out of reach. “Now add another finger.”

“What is it you like about being penetrated?” Sherlock asked as he did so. “The sensation is novel, but during intercourse it would be difficult to stimulate the prostate consistently. Is there a psychological appeal? A matter of giving up control?

“Power dynamics in a romantic relationship are not dictated by the mechanics of intercourse. Now, if you bend your fingers and angle them toward-- “

“I know where the prostate is located, Mycroft,” he snapped, but his spread thighs began to shake.

“Add more lubricant, and then a third finger.”

Sherlock did as he was asked, but gave the act only a fraction of his attention. The rest was absorbed in raking over Mycroft. “Why are you aroused? You haven’t even touched yourself.”

“Watching another person become aroused can be arousing. Many sexual people enjoy watching. Voyeurism is a common proclivity.”

“I want to see,” Sherlock demanded.

“Sometimes gratification can come from not getting what you want right away. Stop.”

Sherlock pushed his fingers further inside without breaking eye contact.

“I said _stop_.” Mycroft put the same dangerous edge into his voice that cowed MPs and lesser royals. Sherlock, miraculously, obeyed. “Now, leave your fingers where they are and show me how you usually proceed.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, leaving Mycroft free to observe the procedure without being observed in return. He watched, fascinated, as Sherlock’s right hand curled around his erection and slid up the shaft. Sherlock’s thumb spread a drop of pre-come across the head.

When Mycroft tore his eyes away, he found Sherlock smirking at his scrutiny. “Admiring my technique?”

“The only good technique is one that’s effective.”

“It’s effective if it’s accomplishing its goal,” Sherlock said with a hard look at the flush spreading up Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft stood and brushed his hands down his front to straighten his clothes. He lifted one of the items from the supply list from the dressing table and approached the bed. He gripped the lifelike, rigid dildo by its base and held it out in front of him at waist level. “Get it wet,” he instructed.

Sherlock leaned forward, balancing precariously as he attempted to do as Mycroft ordered without compromising the position of his hands. At last, he managed to get his mouth around the toy. His lips stretched gorgeously around the healthy circumference. He didn’t complain, as Mycroft had known he wouldn’t; by compelling Sherlock to pick out the supplies for this little lesson, he’d lessened the chance of misinterpreting Sherlock’s limits. 

Mycroft pulled the phallus from Sherlock’s mouth slowly. It shone with saliva, but Mycroft still squeezed a generous line of lube up the length of the toy before presenting it to Sherlock. “Get it coated in lubricant, then hold it against the bed. Continue the stroking motion with your right hand, and hold the toy with your left. Yes, well done. Now lower yourself slowly. It’s important to stay relaxed. Not so quickly. Look at me. Breathe with me.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to Mycroft’s and stayed there. Mycroft made himself take deep breaths and let them out slowly as Sherlock sank down onto the model phallus. Once he was fully impaled, his muscles were beginning to tremble, and a light sweat shone across his shoulders and down his naked chest.

“Oh,” Sherlock mouthed. He swallowed and spread his thighs wider, which would do nothing to relieve the stretch he was feeling. His erection had subsided somewhat, but he continued to stroke himself. “You allow this to be done to you? Not just to take it, but to move, to--”

“Hush. Just adjust to the feel of it inside you. If you do decide you’d like to engage in intercourse, I’d recommend some additional training on your own, with various sizes. The plug you picked up today would do for a start.” Mycroft retreated to dressing table, more for a moment to collect himself than to check on the supplies: he’d already learned by heart the make, model, and specifications of every item Sherlock had purchased.

“Let me see you,” Sherlock demanded, with a voice bereft of its usual force. “You said I could watch you.”

“I agreed you could witness my orgasm.” Mycroft turned around with a smug smile he didn’t feel. “I didn’t specify any further details.”

“Let me see. I want to know what it’s feels like for someone else.”

“I’m hardly a valid stand-in for your classmates. They’ll react quite differently to-- “

“I want to know what it feels like for _you_.” Sherlock angled his body forward, rocking further onto the silicon toy inside him. His erection had returned in full force, and now positively shone with pre-come. “Show me.”

“Very well.” Mycroft undid his belt, pulled it out of his belt loops, and let it drop to the floor. He untucked his shirt and let it hang over his hands as he unbuttoned his trousers. His trousers and pants he slid to the floor. Then he unbuttoned his shirt to remove any obstruction to Sherlock’s view.

Sherlock’s hand continued to move languidly up and down his erection, twisting a bit on the upstroke, and his eyes darted over Mycroft’s body: his hard prick in its dark, coarse bed of hair, his bare legs, the flush creeping onto his face. “Angle yourself forward until the dildo presses against the prostate. Find a rhythm with that stimulation and your hand.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s breath grew ragged as he followed Mycroft’s instructions. Mycroft wrapped his fingers around the base of his erection and squeezed, hard, to stave off his climax. The sight of Sherlock taking himself apart at his command was writing itself indelibly on his memory. He wouldn’t let it end too soon.

“Can you take more?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock responded by bouncing up and down on the toy. He held it firmly in place with his left hand, so that the length of it slipped out almost entirely, and then in, precisely angled to slide against the spot that knocked the breath out of him. His hand blurred over his cock as he surged toward his end.

“Slow down. Not yet,” Mycroft said. “Remember: true gratification can come from not getting what you want right away. You must hold on until you truly cannot endure any longer.”

“I can’t,” Sherlock growled.

“I know,” Mycroft rubbed his hand up his length, and felt the irresistible pull that signaled completion. “Now,” he gasped.

Sherlock shouted once, wordlessly, and Mycroft managed to keep his eyes open to see Sherlock’s release spill across his graceful fingers and pale belly. Then Mycroft, too, fell over the edge of the abyss. He caught his issue neatly in his hand and bit his lips against the moan that threatened to escape. When he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was supporting himself on all fours, panting, and eying Mycroft with fascination.

Mycroft turned quickly. He cleaned his hand with a tissue, then slipped his dressing gown on over his remaining clothes. When he turned, Sherlock was still watching him. He marshalled a quirk of his eyebrow that he hoped conveyed sufficient disinterest. “Do you require assistance?” he asked.

Sherlock wiped his hand deliberately on the duvet and rolled out of bed. He dressed gracefully and efficiently while Mycroft poured himself a brandy with hands kept from shaking by force of will alone.

Sherlock appeared at his shoulder, close enough that Mycroft could feel the heat of his body through their clothes. “I may need to collect more data.”

“You’ll have to do so on your own.”

Sherlock leaned even closer, pouring his sex-rough voice directly into Mycroft’s ear. “Do you like the idea of another man doing what you did tonight?”

“No,” Mycroft whispered.

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” Sherlock said. Then he was gone.


End file.
